


The Bird Flies Back To You

by phinnia



Category: Voyager - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phinnia/pseuds/phinnia
Summary: Featuring:  Antarctica, the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition,  Tom's lists (the 'party' list and the 'no' list), an Ocampan proverb, and a whole different set of rules.   Chapter One is set about mid-series, in an AU where Kes doesn't leave:   Chapter Two is post-Endgame.





	1. Chapter 1

  
“We’re basically Polies out here.”   Harry says one night over beers in Sandrine’s.  
  
“Oh?”  Tom says.   “Polies?”  
  
“Oh.   Back when they were doing pure research in Antarctica in the late twenty-first century, they had stations all around the continent.   The continent was globally owned, but pretty much every major country had a base.   And the inhabitants were called, well, Polies.”      
  
“Huh.”    Tom said.     
  
“They had a _saying_ about Polies.”   Harry goes on.  
  
“Oh?”   This was interesting.  
  
“The odds were good, but the goods were odd.”     
  
Tom snorted half his beer up his nose.     
  
“What’s so funny?”   B’Elanna says, sitting down next to them with a glass of wine.  
  
Harry tells her the story, and her eyes glitter.   “ _That_ was the Maquis.”  
  
Tom gets up, wipes the beer foam off his lip and saunters across the room.  
  
“What’s he doing?”  B’Elanna takes a sip of her wine.  
  
“Oh, I’ve seen this before.”   Harry says.   “Standard.   Watch.”     
  
“Is he flirting with …”  
  
“Chell.  Yeah, I know.”   Harry has a sip of his beer.     
  
“I thought Tom was after one of the Delaneys?”  
  
Harry grins lasciviously.   “Been there with both of ‘em.  Last time he had a night off.  Boring now.”  
  
“Both of them?”  
  
“If you get him drunk, he’s a chatty drunk.   And yeah.   Both of them.  At once.”  
  
“At the _same time?_   That man is a pervert.”  
  
“I know.”   Harry says, laughing.   “But I like him anyway.”  
  
  
Tom breezed into Harry’s quarters.   “Slap me.”  
  
“Gladly.”   Harry slapped him across the face.     
  
“Ow!   _Not so hard!_ ”  
  
“Why did I just do that?”  
  
“No more Bolians.”   Tom says.   “ _No Bolians_.   They’re just weird.   They have some kind of _bizarre custom_ that I am not getting involved with.   Some kind of after-fucking-thing that looks suspiciously like commitment.   After _two days_!”  
  
“And how fast did you get out of there?”  
  
“ _Transwarp_.”   Tom laughs.   “I hit _transwarp_ on the way out of there.  I think I left _socks_ in there.”   He pokes at something on Harry’s table.   “What _is_ this thing?”  
  
“It’s a plant.   I picked it up outside the lab.  It was dying.”   Harry shrugs.  “I skua’ed it.”  
  
“You what?”  
  
“Oh.  Another Polie thing.   It means … well, kinda … it’s not really stealing.  Appropriating.”  
  
“Liberating.”   Tom grins.   “You _liberated_ the plant.  Why is it called ’skua-ing’?”  
  
“Oh.   The skuas were birds in the Antarctic.   They used to hang out near the kitchens, scavenge on stuff.”  
  
“You know a lot about this Polie stuff.”  
  
“It’s an interest.  I picked it up.  They did a lot of interesting research.   And from what I’ve heard, that was an excellent place to see the stars.    Not much tech back then.”     
  
“So I need a new conquest.”   Tom says, poking the plant.   “Any suggestions?”  
  
“What races are on your ‘no’ list again?”  
  
“Uh.   Let’s see.   No Vulcans, no Klingons …”  
  
“You don’t think you and B’Elanna would hit it off?”  
  
“I think I like all my organs on the inside, thanks.  No Bolians.”   Tom shudders.   “And no Betazoids.   Suder gave me the creeps.   I don’t want my head poked around in.”  
  
“The only thing they’d find in your head is piloting charts and live-feed-pornography.”  
  
“True.    I could try hitting on Janeway.”   Tom has a very dangerous glitter in his eyes.  “Although I think my mouth would be writing a check that the rest of me can’t cash.”  
  
“You could try Neelix?”   Harry said mischeviously.  
  
Tom threw a pillow at him.  
  
  
“So explain to me how this ‘packing’ thing worked again.”   Tom asked Harry as he set up his next pool shot.     
  
“Okay.    “FIrst you were the Fucking New Guy.  Or Girl.  And then you were stripped naked, thrown in a pre-dug hole outside,, and then covered in snow -“  
  
“Everything shrinks noticeably.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding.   And then they pour beer on you and then you become an Old Antarctic Explorer and you were brought back inside and they bought you free drinks for the rest of the night.”  
  
“Oh!   So it’s _hazing_ , then.”  
  
“Well, yeah.  But you get free drinks and a bonus title.”  
  
“Damn it, Harry.”  He looks around the bar.   “I have a night off tomorrow and nobody to enjoy it with!”  
  
“How many genders have you screwed, Tom?”  
  
“Oh, everything.   Every conceviable gender that fits a cock or fingers.   Male, female, every conceivable faction of queer you can possibly name.”   He sinks the nine-ball and lines up the ten.  “For two weeks I was fucking this most adorable intersex person back at the Academy.   Tiny, four-foot-three and knew more curses than a Klingon fishwife.”  
  
“I know who you could spend your night off with!”   Harry says with a shit-eating grin on his face.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The _Doctor_.”  
  
“Kim,”  Tom lined up his shot for the eleven, “eat this cue ball.”  
  
  
“So why are you the Delta Quadrant’s biggest sex maniac anyway?”   Harry asks the following afternoon in the mess hall just before they go on shift.  
  
“I am not ready for a committed relationship.  #287 of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition clearly states that Tom Paris Thinks With The Head That Is Right Below The Zipper and is allergic to commitment.”  
  
“I thought there were only two-hundred-and-eighty-five rules of acquisiton.  Plus that unwritten rule.”  
  
“Well, yeah.  I made that last one up, Harry.  See, while you were memorizing a lot of stuff about the South Pole, I was learnng the Ferengi Rules of Acquision, and sometimes they come in pretty damn handy.   There’s a rule for pretty much every situation.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Rule #113.  Never sleep with the boss’s sister.  Or  Rule #136.  A sharp knife cuts quickly.  Act without delay!”  
  
They go up to the Bridge.  Baytart hands Tom his conn report.  
  
“I know!”  Harry cheers.  “I’ve got a good one this time!”  
  
Tom gave him a look that was halfway between amused and exasperated.  “Please.  Tell me it’s not Naomi Wildman.”  
  
“No, it’s way better.”      
  
“You’re not going to tell me?”  
  
“Oh, it’s at your station.”   Tom could see the irrepressible grin trying not to break out of Harry’s Starfleet mask.   “Just sent it over there.”  
  
Tom sighed, went over, and logged himself in.    
  
>Vorik.  Definitely Vorik.  
  
Tom taps out 'I’m going to take one of those sensor probes and shove it up that pert little Korean ass, don’t think I won’t, either.  Besides, Vulcans?  On the ‘no’ list.'   and sends it to Harry’s terminal.  
  
He could her the spluttered laughter from Ops.  
  
“Was there something, Mr. Kim?”  Tuvok asked.   Tom could hear the raised eyebrow without looking, from all the way across the Bridge.  
  
“No, sir.  Nothing, absolutely nothing.”     
  
A few minutes later, Tom’s terminal beeps again.  
  
He looks down.    
  
>”Make sure it’s not the multiphasic one, we only have one of those.   B’Elanna will rip your tongue out if you do that … you think I have a pert ass?”  
  
Tom smirked to himself because he was looking at the viewscreen and he could do that.    
  
>Harry.  Your ass is superb.   You could bounce a lucky penny off your ass.   I have one.   I can show you how that works.  
  
Another message from Harry.     
  
>Well, you have the night off tonight, and so do I.  Sure.  
  
  
Much later that evening, Tom and Harry were lying half-intertwined in bed.   Their clothes were all over the floor of Tom’s quarters, and Tom was flicking his lucky penny in the air and catching it.  
  
“See?”  he says proudly.   “I told you.”     
  
“You did.”   Harry replies, amused.   “Bet you couldn’t do that with Vorik.”  
  
“Oh hell no.  Ass not pert enough and the whole act's way too illogical.   Another reason why Vulcans are on the ‘no’ list.”  Tom clears his throat.  “I do disagree with a few Rules of Acquisition.  For example, number 89, which is ‘Latinum lasts longer than lust.'  While strictly true, it’s just … dull.”    He looks at Harry.   “You’re … staying?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Look, Harry, this isn’t gonna become a -“  
  
“Tom.”   Harry looks up with his dark eyes full of mirth.  “No, it’s not, because I know you.”  
  
  
Their journey continued on.   Tom played the field for a while longer (a redhead in Stellar Cartography, a blonde from Engineering, a couple of girls from some planet they passed by (almost creating a diplomatic incident).)    Harry just watched from across the room, drank more synthales, and remembered that night with Tom’s lucky penny with a smile on his face.  
  
“You want him back, don’t you?”  Kes asks softly from behind him.  
  
Harry turns to meet her eyes, surprised to find her here.   She’s not usually here.   “Well … that’s complicated.”  
  
“Not really.   Tom gives his body freely, but his heart … never.   We have a saying on Ocampa - ‘if the bird flies back to you, it is truly yours’."  
  
“So what do you think?”  
  
She looks at him carefully, and then at Tom chatting up some cute Bajoran from across the room.  “You’re doing the right thing.   Whatever you decide, do it slowly.”  
  
  
Slowly.  
  
He could do that.  
  
He brought over a beer when Tom was done flirting with his conquest-of-the-moment.  
  
“Bajorans may have to go on the ‘no’ list soon.”   Tom rolls his eyes.   “They all remind me of Seska.”  
  
“I can see that.”  Harry sits down, handing Tom the glass.   “Beer?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Harry puts his feet up on the table.  “You could try Gerron.”  
  
“He’s practically fit for Naomi!”   Tom chokes on his beer again.  
  
“A little old for her, I think.”   Harry muses.   “Although B’Elanna says he sleeps with a teddy bear.”  
  
“He _doesn’t_.”   Tom cackles.   “Oh, I just _can’t_.   He’s on the no list, I can’t compete with a teddy bear.”  
  
  
Another day, another beer, this time in an observation lounge.    
  
He hands Tom the glass.   “You look down.”  
  
“Eh.   It’s nothing.”   But Tom’s staring out the window.  “I just - didn’t  …”  
  
“What do you mean, it’s nothing?”     
  
Tom sighs.   “I don’t know.   I’m …  oh, I just … _I hate this part_.”  
  
“What part?   What do you mean?”  
  
Tom drinks his beer.  Harry looks deeply and carefully into those blue eyes, but he can’t get the shields - impressive ones, too, could probably shut out the Borg - to drop.     
  
“Oh, hell.”   Tom drinks his beer, puts the glass back in the replicator, and walks off.  
  
Harry just sort of watches after him helplessly.  
  
  
Then Tom starts avoiding him.   He has to work to catch him after shift, on the bridge, and he’s never at Sandrine’s anymore.   When Harry asks the computer, it says he’s working in Sickbay.     
  
Tom _hates_ working in Sickbay.  
  
He’s pulling double shifts.     
  
Harry has a suspicion, and he doesn’t like it much.   He runs into Commander Chakotay at Sandrine’s.  
  
“Commander.”  
  
“Ensign Kim.”   Chakotay looks up from his padd.    “Have a seat.”  
  
“Are you getting Tom to pull double shifts in Sickbay?  I mean, you or the captain?”  
  
“I didn’t know he was pulling double shifts in Sickbay, although that does explain why he’s not around here much.”   Chakotay looks mildly amused.  “I thought he was busy with his latest conquest, whoever that is this week.   Probably Tuvok.”  
  
“Oh, no.”   Harry says solemnly.   “Vulcans are on the ‘no’ list.”  
  
“He has a ‘no’ list?”  
  
“Buy me a beer and I’ll tell you about it.”   Harry laughs.  “If you don’t tell him, of course.”  
  
“Oh, my lips are sealed.”   Chakotay brings over two synthales.     
  
Harry buys the next round, and he gets the commander to rearrange the duty shifts so he and Tom both have the next evening off.      
  
Then he asks Kes to make sure Tom’s not working the next evening.   She’s pretty good at manipulating the Doctor.   Better than he would be.  
  
That following evening, he finds Tom sitting in his quarters, staring out that window he stares out when he broods.  
  
“Hey.”   Harry says.   “Haven’t seen you for a while.”  
  
“Yeah.   Pulling double shifts in Sickbay.”   Tom shrugs.  “You know how it is.”  
  
_I’m starting to think I might, actually._    
  
“You want to grab dinner or something?   My rations.”  
  
Tom shrugs.    “Sure.”  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Oh … tomato soup is fine.”  
  
“No pizza?   No popcorn?”  
  
“Nah.   Just tomato soup.”  
  
_Tom’s going back to his … old habits.    Huh._  
  
“What do you like about tomato soup?”  Harry asks.     
  
“Oh, you know.   It’s comforting.”   Tom slurps some out of the bowl and wipes off the red mustache from his top lip.  
  
_Comfort.  He wants comfort._  
  
Okay.  Harry can work with that.  
  
  
Over the next week, Harry thinks about this - about Tom, about comfort, about tomato soup, about drinking beer and saying things he doesn't understand in the observation lounge, and asks Commander Chakotay for another favor.   The Commander, who is kind of concerned about Tom pulling all of these double shifts in the first place, is happy to comply.    
  
  
He goes back to Tom’s quarters to find Tom staring out that same window.  
  
“Hey.”   Harry says, coming in and sitting down.   “You want something?”  
  
Tom shrugs.   “I … I don’t know, Harry.”   He looks at Harry again, with those same Borg-level shields up in his eyes.   “Why are you here?”  
  
“You’re my friend.   Was worried about you, that’s all.”  
  
“I have rules.”  Tom mutters, getting up and pacing around his quarters, running his fingers through his hair.  It’s sticking up all over the place now.    “I have rules about this.   I have rules.   I don’t double-dip.”  
  
“You don’t … what?”  
  
“Double-dipping!   You _understand_ , Harry, don’t you?”  
  
“No.”   And he honestly doesn’t.  
  
Tom sighs and sits down on the edge of his bed.   “Double-dipping.   Like, if you dip into someone once, and you break it off, you don’t do it again.”   He gets up and starts pacing.    
  
“Oh.”  Harry goes over to the replicator and gets himself a beer.   “You want one?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“You want anything?”  
  
“No.”   He mutters a few things under his breath.  “I … I don’t, I just … I don’t.   I just don’t!”   Tom paces around again and then looks at Harry with a totally unguarded expression.   “I guess … how many people are on this ship, again?”  
  
“A hundred and forty-eight.”  
  
“Oh, great.”    Tom mutters.   “And I haven’t gotten any in a solid month.”  
  
Harry blinks.   “What?”  
  
Tom doesn’t seem to realize he said that with his out loud voice.   His face turns bright pink and he sinks down on the floor, burying his head in his hands.    
  
“Look.”   Harry sits down on the floor next to him.    “I don’t mind, really.”  
  
“Yeah, but … I don’t want to …”  
  
“Is it me?”  
  
Tom laughs in something that sounds about forty-five degrees from hysteria and closing pretty fast.   “Are you joking?   Hell no, Harry.   _Nothing_ is wrong with you.   There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”   He gives Harry an appraising, but awkward, grin.    “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.   No, this is me.    This is _totally me_.   Look … maybe you should … maybe you should go.”  
  
Harry looks at him calmly.   “Maybe I shouldn’t.”  
  
“Oh, Harry.   Harry, you’re …”   Tom laughs again, and Harry can tell they’re closing in rapidly on hysteria.   “You’re too hot for this.   You’re too hot for this and I have rules about it and I don’t want to break them.”  
  
“You have rules.   An ethical code.”  
  
“Yeah.”   Tom gets up and paces around again, running his hands through his hair, making it even more erratic.  
  
“Which is basically … no … double-dipping, as you put it.”  
  
“Yeah, exactly.”   Tom smiles, but his eyes are overbright behind those shields.     
  
“So … what were you going to do, then?   I mean, after you run through all the hundred and forty-eight people on this ship, excluding unavailable people or people that aren’t on your ‘no’ list in some fashion?”  
  
“Uh …   Tom’s smile gets even more awkward.  “Um.   Hope the rest of the Delta Quadrant doesn’t look like Neelix?”  
  
“And if they do?”  
  
Tom just sort of sinks down on the floor again.  
  
Harry smiles at him, not unkindly, and lets himself out.  
  
  
Harry lets two weeks go by this time before he interferes.   He’s playing a long game here.  He can manage to let an extra week go by.    Tom keeps pulling double shifts, alpha on the bridge and gamma in sickbay and he sleeps during beta shift, and Harry just sort of lets that happen.   Kes says she’s keeping an eye on him, making sure he actually eats at least once a day, which is probably a good idea.     
  
Then he doesn’t even have to bribe anybody except Kes, who is surprisingly easy to chat with about this, and he shows up at Tom’s quarters during beta shift with a bottle of real Scotch.  
  
“You could at least pick another window to look out of.”  Harry says, coming in.   “Haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.   I brought a peace offering.”  
  
Tom looks around and grins.   “Ah, my favorite - wait.   That’s not real scotch.   That’s New Zealand scotch.”  
  
Harry looks at the bottle.  “It is?   Oh, crap.   It is.” Deliberate, actually.  
  
“Harry.”  Tom sighs, with half a smile on his face.   “Have a few reasons to resent New Zealand.  Oh, hell.   Get me a glass anyway.   It can’t be worse than anything we cooked up inside.”     
  
Harry pours them both glasses, and Tom knocks his back with the ease of long practice, and then chokes.   “Or maybe it can.”   He pours himself another one.     
  
Harry pours himself one and sips it.  It is kind of awful, but he’s a slow drinker by nature.    
  
  
“So, I have your next conquest for you.”  Harry says after a while.  “An excellent one.”     
  
“Naomi, right?”   Tom says, waving his hands expansively.     
  
“No, no, better!    Teller!”  
  
“Teller?”     
  
“Oh, you know him.   Guy down on deck eighteen, always has head up his butt, four advanced degrees, doesn’t say shit to nobody?”  
  
“Oh, _that guy’s_ got a _name?_ ”   Tom looks at him blearily.   “ _Really?_   I thought he was just “”Asshole on Deck Eighteen.’   Y’know what?   Nobody who’s got their head up their ass … is on my party list.   Teller’s on the ‘no’ list.  I mean, where’d I stick it?”  
  
“Too true.”   Harry sipped his scotch.  
  
Tom has another drink.   “You know somethin’, Harry?”  
  
“Lots of things.”  
  
“Woulda fucked you.   ‘Cept for these rules I got. “  
  
“Talk to me about your rules, Tom.”   Most of the Scotch is gone.  Harry tops off his glass with the last of it.  
  
“Some people do … some people do no kissing.   Too complicated.  ‘Sides, I like kissing.”   He giggles drunkenly.   “Rules of Ass-quisition.   I don’t double-dip.   But … got a problem, right?   You said.”  
  
“You do.”  
  
“So it’s you, with the pert ass I can bounce my lucky penny off of, or … my ‘no’ list, all of who got real good reasons for bein’ on it.   You got nice hair, too.  And eyes.  Like those.”     He reaches out and caresses Harry’s cheek.  “So soft.”   He slides down in his chair.  
  
Harry waits for ten minutes, until he hears Tom snoring gently, and then he goes back to his own quarters.  He comes back with a hangover remedy and a soft blanket he replicated specially.  He sets the first one down on the table in front of Tom and tucks the second around his friend, and he smiles and lets himself out.  
  
  
Tom looks terrible on the bridge the next morning.   Pale and waxen and dizzy-looking.   Bad enough that Janeway asks if he’s alright, and he says he’s fine, and she makes him go down to Sickbay anyway, and the Doctor sends him back to bed because he’s pulling too many double shifts and not getting enough sleep.   After a couple hours she sends Harry to check on him.   He suspects that may be Commander Chakotay’s doing, although it could be her own.     
  
Harry lets himself in to find the hangover remedy still sitting there on the table in the hypospray and Tom curled up naked on the bed with all the blankets on the floor in a tangle, shivering.   This time he calls Frazer and gets her to cover the rest of his shift and he puts the soft blanket over Tom again, and he then he thinks for a moment, takes off most of his clothes, and lies down on the bed beside him.   Tom just sort of sighs deeply and curls into Harry like he’s sleeping with his own teddy bear.  
  
He watches Tom sleep.  
  
  
Tom sleeps for another two and a half hours, and then Harry can feel him stirring.  
  
“Hey.”   he says quietly.    
  
“Hi.”   Tom replies without thinking, and opens his eyes, and then actually _freezes_.  
  
Harry watches the shields lock into place this time.    But for a second, before - desire, for sure, not that he didn’t know that one, and love, which he was pretty sure about until exactly this moment.   And _fear_.  A _lot_ of fear.   And then Borg-quality shielding slamming into place.  
  
“Did I - did we -  no.”  Tom sighs all too shakily.   “No, I didn’t.   I did not.   Rules still intact.”  
  
“Doctor sent you back here.”  Harry smiles at him.   “You know, you don’t have to suffer like this.”  
  
“Who says I don’t?”   Tom huffs.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Who made you God, then?”  
  
Harry quirked one eyebrow.  “You could.  You said I was, once.   Well, you said it a few times that night if I remember right.”  
  
“Harry.”   Tom says.   “You’re too close to naked and you’re too close to _me_ and you know I don’t think with the head above the blanket.”  
  
“I know.”   Harry smiles, and rubs Tom’s shoulders.  They’re tight, too tight.   He tries to loosen them a little bit, and Tom moans.   He likes the sound of that moan.  It brings back good memories about a night with a lucky penny.  So he rubs them a little more.   “You keep all your tension in here.”  
  
Tom laughs, and this time they are definitely in close orbit of hysteria.   “I got laid more in _prison_ than I have for the last two months, did you know that?”  
  
Harry rubs his neck and ghosts the slightest kiss on the back of it.  
  
“Oh, fucking hell.”   Tom says, and flips him over.     
  
Harry grins up at him.  “Yeah?”  
  
“I don’t care anymore.”  Those over-bright eyes are staring down at him.  “Oh, _fuck_ the rules.”  
  
“No.”   Harry breathes in Tom’s ear.  
  
“No?”     
  
“Fuck _me_.”   Harry whispers, and watches the shudder run through Tom’s body like a rainstorm rippling through the desert.   He knows what Tom likes - he remembers that first night, remembers it all - and he knows the first round is going to be quick, so he slides down the bed and takes Tom’s cock in his mouth.   He likes Tom’s cock.  Long and elegant.   He just licks down his cock and takes it in his mouth and about a second and a half later Tom explodes in his mouth with a shuddering, long sigh, and Harry lets his hands trace up Tom’s back to his shoulders again, kissing all the way, to where his tension was stored, right in the neck and shoulders.    It’s not quite as horrible now, but it’s still pretty bad.  
  
“Harry.”   Tom’s voice is actually trembling.   “What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m massaging your shoulders.   You have a big knot of - tension, right - there.   Stop falling asleep in chairs.”   Harry murmurs, and gets some massage oil from Tom’s bedside table.   “There.  Better?   That’s probably better.”  
  
“Oh, _fuck me_.”    A deep exhale.  
  
“I can do that too, if you want.”     He rubs a little further down.     
  
“You should do this professionally.”  
  
“Nah.   Just for people I really like.”   He kisses the back of Tom’s neck again.   “There.   I meant it, though.   You don’t have to be miserable.   And you know something else?   The Polies had the same problem you had - and they came up with a solution.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yup.”   Harry nuzzles the back of Tom’s neck.   “Now, this _does_ involve limited double-dipping.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“They called it an ice-wife.  Or an ice-husband.”   Harry nips Tom’s ear.   “It was kind of … an open secret.   You know, you’re double-dipping with me.  But it’s just for the Delta Quadrant, right?   Just for the Ice.  Just for there.”  
  
Tom nods.   “Right.”  
  
“So.”   Harry murmurs.   “What do you think about that?”  
  
Tom turns his head, and Harry can see his lazy smile.   “I like it.   Just one more thing, though.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Where the hell did that blanket come from?”  
  
Harry laughs.   “Oh, keep that here.”  
  
Good.   Now he has all the time from now until they get home to convince Tom to stay with him.  
  
Piece of cake.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are Australians and babies and design specifications, and a confession, and Harry does something backwards for a good reason. There may be something deeply wrong with me because I actually wrote an epilogue.

Voyager bust her way out of the transwarp conduit in front of that Borg sphere with her best pilot at the helm and her best scientist at Ops, then flew into a forest of hastily gathered starships and shocked Admiral’s faces on the viewscreen.     
  
Including Tom’s father.  
  
Harry had heard Tom’s father once over the speakers of the bridge, and while he seemed reasonable there, Harry had absolutely no doubt that there was a lot more behind that relationship.    Tom got letters from his sisters, but never his father or mother.    
  
When Chakotay ran down to sickbay to see the new baby girl he and B’Elanna had that was born en route to the Alpha Quadrant, Harry and Tom grinned at each other across the bridge, and Harry thought about his plan.  
  
It was only half a plan, but he figured he’d make it work.  
  
  
They were lifted from quarantine - media blackout and otherwise - four days later, and Harry went to Tom’s quarters to find it empty,.   Nothing.   Absolutely nothing.  
  
Of course, that did mean he’d taken the blanket, and all the other gifts (the massage oil, the coffee mug, the little ship Harry had bought him after Monea) with him.  
  
He checked recycler records.  Nope, he’d definitely taken all of those things.  
  
He took a deep breath, looked out the window at McKinley Station, and wishes his bird a free flight.  
  
  
He gave it a while.   It was tough to adjust to planet-side time again, and there were so many calls he had to make - to his parents, cousins, other relatives - and there was the measure of what he wanted to do with his next assignment.   He had so many offers, offers from everywhere.   But he wasn’t sure what to accept, so he took nothing.      
  
He visits Chakotay and B’Elanna and their baby.    
  
“No Tom?”   she asks, while changing Miral.     
  
“The Ocampa have a saying.   If the bird flies back to you, it is truly yours.’   Kes told me that.”     
  
“So … you broke up?”  
  
“I let him believe it was a temporary thing.”  
  
“You let him believe it was a temporary thing.”   she says, snapping up Miral’s sleep suit.   “So you are playing a very long game.”    She takes Miral back out into the living section and puts her in a swinging chair and starts to fold a basket of laundry.  
  
He helps with this.   The rhythm of doing this is soothing, folding tiny pants and shirts.  He looks at her wedding ring sparkling in the light.   “Where’s Chakotay?”  
  
“Chatting with some stupid Admiral on subspace in the back.”   She smiles as Chakotay comes out.  
  
“Hey, Harry.   No Tom?”  
  
“Nope.”  Harry folds a pink t-shirt that says ‘engineer-in-training’ on it.     
  
“Is this one of those ‘if you love someone, set them free’ moments?”  
  
“Yes, actually.”    
  
“The Ocampa have a saying.”   B’Elanna says.   “If the bird flies back to you, it’s truly yours’,  or something.”   She hands Chakotay a stack of laundry, and he puts it away.   Harry envies them their easy familiarity.    
  
“So you’re playing for extra bases, then.”  Chakotay says when he comes back.  
  
“Yes.   Didn’t know you played baseball, Commander.”  
  
“Used to, back on Darvan Five.  Haven’t in a long while.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you could call Admiral Paris, Commander?”  
  
“Harry.”   Chakotay puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder.   “Just call me Chakotay.   And yes.  I will definitely do that.   Although to be honest?   He might even talk to you.”  
  
He goes into the back room again, and comes back five minutes later with a padd.  
  
“This is his sister Kathleen’s address - home and work.   The one below it is his sister Moira’s, and the one at the bottom is a friend he had in Australia.   He said check them in that order and call back yourself if those don’t work out.”  
  
So to give Tom more time, he tries Australia first.  
  
The Australian was a surfer named Jim who enthusiastically told Harry to call him Jimbo in that flat, broad Aussie accent and remembered Tom very well.   They meet on the beach.  It’s a cool, wet day, but the surf is high.  
  
“Oh, Flyboy!   Yer one a Flyboy’s mates, then?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I ain’t seen Flyboy in … oh … dog’s years, Christ.   He an’ I used ta surf down here.   Then he went off to a bunch a people doin their Nasho, these Markeez or whatever he called ‘em, an’ I heard he was over in Auckland with them bloody sheepshaggers over yonder, them fuckin’ Kiwis, an’ then nothin’.   Heard from some of my mates he went off to space again.   That’s Flyboy, though.  Give him a ship, he’s aces-up to fly ‘er.”    He grins at Harry again.  “He still got that lucky penny?”  
  
“As far as I know, yeah.  Why?”  
  
“I gave it to him.   You see him, tell him hey from Jimbo.”  
  
  
Then he tries Moira.   Moira lives in London; she’s a musician, like he is.   She does solo concerts, plays with the London Symphony Orchestra.    She plays the piano.  She invites him into her home.   She’s got a close-fitting blonde pageboy cut that goes up at the back and is wearing a short blue-green dress with silver hoops in her ears.   She has slightly lighter hair than Tom does.   Her eyes are dark, though, like Admiral Paris’s were.  
  
“Sorry, Tom isn’t here.”  she says.  “He’s probably at Kathleen’s.   Did Dad give you her info?”  
  
“Yes, both home and work.”  Harry shrugged.   “But I wanted to give him a little time.”  
  
“Time?”  
  
“Adjustment time.   Tom gets nervous about making big decisions.   Your dad gave me three addresses and said to do them in a specific order.  So I’m doing them in the wrong order.”  
  
There’s a smile on Moira’s face that looks so much like Tom’s it almost takes Harry’s breath away.   “You _understand_ him.”  
  
“Well.   Seven years in the Delta Quadrant will do that to you.”  
  
“Right.   But it’s more than that.”   She looks Harry in the eyes.   “You _love_ him.”  
  
Harry looks at his feet.  “Don’t tell him that.   I don’t want to scare him off.”  
  
“Oh, no, no, _no!_ ”    Moira settles him on a leather sofa.   “Do you want something?   Anything to drink?”  
  
“Uh … I’ll have a raktajino, that would be great.  Sweet.”  
  
“Sure thing.”   She goes over to her replicator and brings back two, one for herself.    “Oh, wow.   Tell me about yourself!    I have so many questions.    Tell me some stories about the Delta Quadrant!  Tom wrote me some letters, but he’s closer to Kath than me.”  
  
So he tells her about meeting Tom, about Akitiria, about the Kazon and Vidiians, about the Hirogen, about the Borg and species 8472, about fluidic space, about Monea.   About how Tom spending thirty days in the brig was hell for both of them.   About how his interest in the South Pole had led to his relationship with Tom.   How he’d gone to Juilliard.   She’s thrilled.  They swap names of mutual acquaintances.     
  
“Next time, bring your saxophone.”   Moira says, as she walks him to the shuttleport.   “And my brother.”  
  
“If I can convince him to come back.”     
  
“He will.”   Moira nods.    
  
He can see her waving him off as the shuttle makes its departure across the ocean.   He waves back.  
  
He goes back to his temporary, still very much unpacked apartment, checks his messages - three job offers and a call from his mother - and sleeps.  
  
  
Kathleen works as a research scientist in a nanotech firm in the East Bay, just across from Starfleet Headquarters.   He transports over to their building and calls up to her office.  
  
She comes down with her blonde hair tied back in a loose bun, like Janeway in a rush.   She’s got the sides clipped up, and she’s wearing blue scrubs, so she must work in a lab.    
  
“Hi.”    He extends his hand to shake.  “I’m Harry Kim.   I’m a friend of Tom’s?”  
  
“Oh!”   Her grin looks even more like Tom’s, and she has the same eyes.   “Oh, _my God_.   You are _the Delta-husband.”_  
  
“Yes.   Do you have time for a coffee?”  
  
“Well, I never ate breakfast.  So it’s what, ten?   Let’s get something.  They have a replicator here.”  
  
  
They go to the little replimat.  
  
“So how is he?”   Harry asks.  
  
“Moody and irritable and he won’t discuss it.”   Kathleen’s eyes are sparkling over her meal.   “He says the stars are all wrong now.   I asked him if it was anything else and he said not to be so ridiculous and just kept on listening to those Captain Proton radio plays he loves so much.”  
  
_Captain Proton_.   Harry smiles.   “He made some holodeck programs out of those.  He was Proton.   I was Buster Kincaid.”  
  
“I would _love_ to see those.   If I had to guess right now, Captain Proton is deeply lost and fumbling for an escape hatch from his feelings.”  
  
“Well, this time Buster isn’t going to help him out.”  Harry has a bite of his hasperat.     
  
“Oh, neither am I.”  
  
“Kathleen - do you mind if I call you Kathleen?”  
  
“Of course not.  Or Kath, if you want.”  
  
“Why is Tom so afraid of … falling in love?   Honesty?  Actual emotion?”  
  
Kathleen huffs a slight laugh.   “Well, that’s a bit of a story.  But you deserve to hear it.   Our family was … probably more traditional than most families these days.   Our mother raised Moira and me, and our father was responsible for Tom.   And our father taught Tom that Starfleet boys - Starfleet _officers_ \- don’t cry.  Or show emotion.    As far as falling in love … oh.   Our parents have been trying to marry him off for God knows how long, Harry.   I think they were trying to get him bethrothed at the age of six.   And that is _wrong_.   So he made up this elaborate set of personal rules -“  
  
“I’m familiar with them.”   Harry laughs.  
  
“So he wouldn’t have to get caught and get married to someone he didn’t want to marry.   Because people would try to manipulate him.   Our parents, or his girlfriends or boyfriends.”    Kathleen reaches forward Harry and pats his hand.   “You may be the first real, honest friend he’s ever had that I didn’t immediately feel I should spray with disinfectant.”  
  
“Well, I am very clean.”   Harry says solemnly.   “My parents raised me that way.  Housebroken, even.”  
  
“Oh, good.”   Kathleen grins.   “Now.   What are you going to do about my brother?”  
  
“I’m waiting for him to come back.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“This is sort of  ‘if you love somebody, set them free’ kind of moment.”   He scrapes up the last of his hasperat.  
  
“And if he comes back ….”  
  
“Well, I’m _hoping_ he’ll be mine forever.  I hope.   At the moment, that’s all it is.”  
  
Kathleen stands up and shakes his hand again.  “Harry, it was lovely meeting you.   And I hope to meet you again soon.”  
  
“Same.  If you could not tell him I was here …”  
  
“I won’t.   Oh!   And thanks for bringing back those Borg nanoprobes.  I’m doing great stuff with them upstairs.”  
  
Harry smiles on his way out.  
  
  
He visits more friends from the ship.   They all ask about Tom.   He tells him his plan.  They all promise not to tell.   He even takes a weekend to go out to Vulcan and meet Tuvok’s family.   Vulcan is very hot, but also, extremely calm.  
  
Tuvok’s wife is beautiful - he remembers seeing her once when Voyager came back.  They have four children and a grandchild and another grandchild on the way.    
  
“I am surprised not to see Mr. Paris accompanying you.”    Tuvok says.   He is holding baby T’Meni, and Harry finds this very strange.  
  
“I’m letting him come back.”   Harry says.  
  
“I see.”   Tuvok raises one eyebrow.   “Did you have some disagreement?”  
  
“No, no.   I let him think that our relationship was just temporary.   Just for the Delta Quadrant, as it were.”  
  
At this, Tuvok raises the other eyebrow.   “The great Spock said ‘Logic is the beginning, and the end, of wisdom.’   Do you believe Mr. Paris is wise?”  
  
Harry thinks.  “Yes.  I do.  He’ll get there … eventually.”   He picks up the pleenok off the floor (he has seen one before - Tuvok had given one to Miral) and gives it to T’Meni.   T’Meni takes it and disassembles it, and then looks up at Tuvok like it’s his turn.  
  
“She expects me to rearrange the pieces now.”   He explains.   “It is part of the training.”  
  
“I see.”  Harry laughs.   “She’ll be beating me at kal-toh in no time, then.”  
  
  
He goes back home to find Tom wrapped in the soft blanket, asleep against his door.     
  
He nudges Tom with his foot.  “Hey there.”  
  
Tpm jerks himself awake, and rubs one hand against his eyes.   “Where the fuck _were_ you?”  
  
“Went to Vulcan, to see Tuvok and his family.    He has a cute little granddaughter.   She’s already learning the basics of how to wallop me at kal-toh.”    
  
“Oh.”    
  
“Want to come in?   Still haven’t unpacked much, but you can come in anyway.”     
  
Tom hesitates, and then nods.   Harry lets them both in.  
  
Harry talks for a while - about people they both knew from the ship, about his trip to Vulcan.  Tom paces around the room.   He threw the blanket across the sofa, and its brilliant sky blue there against the black furniture.  (He had to get the blue one.   There were other colors, but he had to get it in blue.)  He told B’Elanna about them, and she’d replicated a green one for Miral.  
  
“You thinking about work?”   Tom asks him suddenly.  
  
“Not right yet, no.   Got a lot of offers.  Hard to sort them out.   Did you want anything?   Drink?”  
  
“What I really want is a massage.”   Tom says with half a laugh.   “Considering I fell asleep against your door, and I think that’s worse than chairs.”    
  
“Come back here, then.”   Harry smiles.   “New bottle of massage oil.   The good stuff.   Should relax you.”    
  
“Can’t you just -“  
  
“Tom, I am _not_ going to murder my knees on that floor.”  
  
Tom looked at him.     
  
Harry sort of lets his eyes do the pleading this time.  He never did that a lot before, but he does now.   It was important now.  
  
Tom sighed after about two minutes and got up.   Harry turned his back and permits himself a small surge of triumph.     
  
Tom throws himself down on Harry’s bed, and Harry climbs on top of him, letting his hands map the familiar muscles under Tom’s t-shirt.   “Christ, Tom, have you been sleeping in nothing _but_ chairs?   They do have beds in this Quadrant.”     
  
“No, I also slept for a couple hours against your door.”   Tom mumbles into the pillow.     
  
“I’m sure that helped a lot.   What have you been doing _other_ than holding all your stress in your shoulders and neck and the rest of your back?”  
  
Tom sighs.   “Thinking, pretty much.   Job offers.   More thinking.   A lot of thinking.   Was civil to my parents.   They want to know what I’m doing with my life, and they can’t accept ‘I have no fucking clue’ as an answer.   Thinking about writing a guide to the Delta Quadrant.”  
  
“All the places to stay away from.”   Harry jokes.  
  
“Damn right.   The best Hirogen restaurants in the galaxy.”  
  
“That’s a really short section.”     
  
“One word.  “None.”   Tom groans.   “Ow, that hurts.”  
  
“Always your right shoulder and the back of your neck.”   Harry mutters.   “Those were always the worst spots.”  
  
“I remember how you used to do this for me every week.”   Tom whispers.  “And after every awful away mission.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Mmm.”    Harry thinks Tom’s falling asleep, but then he keeps talking.   “Remember after Monea?”  
  
“Your back was a _mess_ after the brig.”  
  
“Yeah.  But I threw myself at you, after shift that day.   I was so fucking hot for you.  I just … I needed some kind of touch, something to make me feel _human_ again.   Not like a goddamn monster or a broken toy.”  
  
Harry smiles.   “That was a really good night, I have to admit.”  
  
“That’s why I came here.”   Tom murmurs.   “You were the only one who could ever - who can ever fix me, like that.   Who doesn’t make me feel like some kind of display model for the Parises or a monster for the things I’ve done before.   You don’t think of me as some kind of project  like all the therapists I had to see in prison did.   You just let me be myself.”  
  
“Well, I like you like this.”   Harry gently kisses the back of Tom’s neck.   “Although I’d like you better naked.”  
  
Tom gets up suddenly, flipping Harry sideways on the bed.   “Harry?”  
  
“Uh …. yeah?  I wasn’t quite -“  
  
“Look, Harry - I … I … this is a… this is probably an _utterly stupid_ question.   But … have you heard from Libby lately?”  
  
That was _random_.   “Libby?”  
  
“Yeah.  Old girlfriend?   The one you used to talk about a lot?”  
  
“Oh!  Yeah, she’s married, she has three kids.  Why?”  
  
“So … .you’re not seeing anybody, then.”  
  
“Tom.”   He tries not to smile.   “I thought that was implied in the statement ‘I’d like you better naked’.   No.  I am not.”  
  
A deep sigh, and then he takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Harry.  
  
Harry unfolds it.  
  
It’s … a  … _design specification_.   For a _ring_.    A platinum band, with half a penny inset into the front.  
  
He stares at it for a second, and then looks at Tom with a smiall smile.  “If this is you proposing, I’m going to say yes.   Is this you proposing?”  
  
Tom swallows, nods, and clears his throat.  “Yeah.”  
  
“Well, yes.”   Harry looks at the design spec more closely.  “Is that your lucky penny?”  
  
“Well, yeah.”   Tom is grinning hugely now.   “I can get another one.   I mean, this one got me you, that’s all I never really needed.”  
  
“Well, what are you going to bounce off my ass?”   Harry murmurs, dragging Tom back on the bed.   “On our wedding night?”  
  
“Poker chips.”   Tom says into his mouth.  


	3. Epilogue:  The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a mysterious conclusion. And Tom gets a drink up his nose again. (There may be future bits. I am not sure this is dead yet.)

Harry’s parents wanted a big Korean wedding.  
  
Tom’s parents wanted a big church wedding, or a Starfleet wedding.  
  
They said no to both ideas and said Admiral Janeway was doing the service.   

(Well, she was.) 

That pacified both sets of parents well enough.  
  
(Not as herself.  But they didn’t mention that.)  
  
They said that yes, they had already handled everything.   Really.   They had the venue booked, and the attendants, and the caterer (he was very startled, but he did remember them, and he had a nephew in Starfleet now, so he actually gave them an un-Ferengi-like discount of 10% off) and no, it was not going to be all bugs, really, he fed humans all the time, he worked on a space station.  They could wear whatever they wanted to (because the venue would take care of appropriate clothing, not that they mentioned that.).  
  
They invited the whole of Voyager and told the wedding party about their plans on condition of absolute _silence_.   Naomi Wildman thought it was the funniest thing _ever_.  
  
And so, in the biggest holodeck they could find, Captain Proton and Buster Kincaid were married by Queen Arachnia of the Spider People.    Admiral Paris and his wife were ... a little irked as Chaotica and Bride of Chaotica, and Harry’s parents were the President of Earth and the President’s wife.    Kathleen and Moira were the bridesmaids, Constance Goodheart and her sister Justine;  Naomi was their littlest sister, Hope.   They had identical outfits.   Tuvok was Harry’s best man, and they _thought_ about dressing him in pyjamas and a sombrero, but decided to give him a similar outfit to Buster’s instead.    He wore it with a great deal of calm and at least one raised eyebrow through the whole ceremony.    
  
It wss a very, very funny wedding.  Even before anybody got to the punch bowl.   The Doctor came with Seven of Nine and Icheb came with a nice Vulcan girl from the Academy. Kes and Neelix attend via the MIDAS array, beaming broadly. It was really fantastic.  
  
“So, what’s your next adventure?”   B’Elanna asked them afterward.   “'Captain Protons and the Great Ship Renovation'? Captain Protons fly into the sunset?”  
  
“Don’t be silly, B’Elanna.”   Tom smirked.  “It’s 'Captain Protons and the Honeymoon Planet'.”  
  
“Oooh.”  Harry murmured.   “Are there slave girls in this one, too?”  
  
“Nope, not this time.  Just one.”   Tom fed him a piece of wedding cake.   “Slave boy.  Although … he might do a dance of the seven veils for you, if you’re good.”  
  
“Oh, I’m _good_.   I’m very, _very good_.”  
  
“I _know_ you are.”  
  
B’Elanna shook her head.   “Augh.   It’s not just the cake that’s too sweet around here.”    
  
“I meant to ask you.”  Harry murmurs.   “Does this mean I’m ‘Son-in-law-of-Chaotica’ now?”  
  
Tom gets punch up his nose.   “Yup.”


End file.
